Angel
by neverknowinglybeserious
Summary: A young woman shows up at 221B shortly after Sherlock's death. Who is she? What is her connection to Sherlock? This story will delve into the past to find the answers and will bring to light doubts over Sherlock's death.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Do not own

2012

It had been twenty minutes since Heather first stopped across the street from 221B Baker St. She wanted to charge across the street and into the flat that Sherlock lives-used to live in but felt like there was something holding her back. She started to turn away but stopped while clenching the keys in her hand hard enough for the metal to cut into her skin. Growling, Heather turned back towards 221B and started across the street. Pausing at the door she took a deep breath before unlocking it and stepping inside. She heard no noise from the flat above but she knew that its now only inhabitant was at home. With a sigh Heather started up the stairs taking them two at a time thinking "This is going to be hard."

* * *

John was sitting in his armchair and staring at Sher-his empty one in front of him. He knew he should get up and eat something because it was close to lunch time and he couldn't remember the last time that he ate but he didn't feel like getting up. John heard the front door open then somebody sighing and making their way up the stairs. Thinking it was Lestrade he called out "I am _fine_. You don't have to keep checking up on me." He was startled when a female voice replied "I hope you forgive me that I call you out on that bit of bullshit Capt-Doctor Watson." Turning, expecting for it to be Mycroft's assistant Anthea, John was surprised to see a young woman in black combat boots, rolled up dark jeans, a blue tee-shirt and an army green jacket with a backpack over her left shoulder. He glared at her as she made her way into the room while shrugging off her backpack.

"Who are you?" he questioned bluntly.

She gave him a sad smile and replied "A friend of Sherlock's. I thought it was past time we met. I would have come earlier but the British government wouldn't let me."

John looked confused "As far as I knew I am-was Sher-his only friend." his voice breaking on Sherlock's name.

She frowned slightly and said "Well maybe friend is the wrong word…" and then quickly put her hands up in a placating way when she saw John start to tense "a better word would be family but we are not blood related."

At the word family John stood up angrily glaring at her "FAMILY! Then where the hell were you when he needed his family!"

She glared right back at him and put her hands on her hips "I already told you the British government WOULDN'T LET ME!" John opened his mouth to yell back at her when a creak on the stairs and a slight tap alerted them to another person entering the flat. "Oh great speak of the devil." She muttered.

* * *

Heather glared toward the doorway "Go away Mycroft! Haven't you done enough damage to my family?!" Mycroft calmly stepped into the room and held her glare with a calm stare. John was still looking at Heather with a confused and angry look when she said "Get the hell out before I give you a second black eye to match the one I gave you earlier." Quickly turning to look at Mycroft John gave a start at the man's face. Mycroft's left eye was sporting an extremely vivid black eye that was a great contrast with the pale nature of his face.

"I assure you that will not be necessary. I am only here to deliver my brother's will to his chosen executor." John collapsed into his chair at Mycroft's words.

Heather stalked over to Mycroft and tore the folder out of his grasp "There your task is done now get out." She said.

Mycroft sighed "Elizabeth…"

"My name is Heather, Mycroft and you know it." She snapped at him.

A look of annoyance passed over his face "Heather, I am only trying to…" he started to say when Heather interrupted him "what you think is right. Well, right now is a time for emotion something you Holmes boys have trouble with so I am saving you the trouble. Leave. Now. "

Mycroft sighed and gave Heather a look. Her blue gold eyes softened and she smirked back, and in answer to an unspoken question she said "Of course." Mycroft then turned and left the flat. Heather looked down at the folder in her hands and sighed. Then she turned and kneeled in front of John's armchair and gave him a searching look. John looked shell-shocked, distraught and angry. She reached out and grasped his right shoulder and gave it a squeeze. He met her searching worried glance with a look of confusion and then suspicion. Heather smiled and said "Let's get some food in you and then I'll explain as best I can." With another reassuring squeeze she stood and went into the kitchen and started looking through the cabinets. Heather came back into the living room with an annoyed huff and then turned toward the stairs and bellowed "MRS. HUDSON!" John jumped at the sound of her loud voice. Seeing him jump out of the corner of her eye Heather turned and gave him a wink.

Mrs. Hudson came marching into the flat yelling shrilly "Who are you?"

Heather smiled and replied "Hi, sorry for shouting. My name is Heather and I was wondering if you had any food you could rustle up for lunch; I'm afraid John doesn't have anything edible and he needs to eat."

Mrs. Hudson's eyes softened "Of course I have something for him just give me a tick."

"Perfect." Heather said "I'll make us some tea."

Forty minutes later John, Mrs. Hudson and Heather were seated in the living room of 221B drinking tea. Heather fidgeted with her cup until John put down his mug and said "I think it's about time for you to start explaining things."


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Still not mine

Heather began "I suppose the best place to start was how I met Sherlock. It was back in…"

* * *

2006

I hung up the pay phone and started to walk back towards the alley where Rose lay. Anger and sadness coursed through me as I went back through the attack. Sad, because I couldn't stop Rose from getting killed and anger because the guy responsible not only got away but managed to get a lucky hit across my left ribs. Wincing, I shrugged on my jacket hoping that it would hide the blood from the police. The last thing I needed was more attention from the authorities. I sat and waited at the entrance of the alley for the police to show up.

The first person to show up was a sergeant, a young black woman who looked like she was sucking on a lemon. The next person was dressed in a blue coverall-a part of forensics. He was a thin dark-haired man with the face of a constipated rabbit. Lemon started to tape off the scene while Rabbit face started ordering people around.

I watched the police work the scene while I waited for someone to talk to me. None of the officers or forensic techs spared me much more than a slight glance as they worked. I straightened up from my seemingly relaxed posture by a squad car as Lemon made her way over to me.

"Hello, my name is Sally Donovan." She said "I would like to ask you a few questions about what you saw."

I nodded hoping that she would ask them quickly so I could get down to hunting the guy who killed Rose.

"Did you know the victim?" she asked

I had to resist the urge to roll my eyes and answer snarkily "No, I just call 999 about random people I see killed and call them my friend while talking to the dispatcher." Instead I simply nodded.

Donovan's eyes tightened but her smile stayed pleasant. _Not a very patient person_ I thought _Bad trait for a police officer._

Donovan started to ask another question when a commotion drew her attention. Rabbit man was yelling at two new people at the scene. The older of the two had slightly grey hair with an air of authority about him. The younger man was lanky, with a mop of curly dark hair, wearing a long wool coat and an attitude that screamed sulking. While the older man argued with constipated rabbit man the younger man's eyes darted around the alley. He had started to move towards Rose when he froze. He turned toward the older man and asked a question. The older man gestured toward me and said something. The young man turned toward me and pinned me with a stare.

I stared back. Most people would probably find his stare unnerving but to me it seemed almost comfortable. I was startled out of this confusing thought as the young man abruptly started marching toward me. I watched him confused as he ignored Donovan and stopped directly in front of me. Not saying a word he just stared until he abruptly grabbed the shock blanket and threw it off while simultaneously grabbing the bit of my shirt visible under the hem of my jacket and pulled it up exposing my stomach and wounded side. I barely registered his smirk of triumph juxtaposed with worried eyes as I instinctively reacted to his sudden grab. I grabbed the arm holding my shirt and twisted it up and behind his back forcing him to go to his knees or break his arm. I held the hold for a moment while I took a deep breath to calm down and then let him go.

"If you wanted to point out that I was wounded then you should have just said something." I said quietly

Straightening his coat he turned and said in a surprisingly deep voice "I apologize. I shall endeavor to remember that in the future."

I smiled politely and then grew nervous as I noticed all the police officers and forensic techs were staring frozen with shock. Noticing my smile falter he glanced around and said "Oh, ignore them they are idiots."

"What a charming personality you have to go along with that intelligence. Just because they aren't as smart as you doesn't mean you have to say it out loud." I snarked

He smirked and asked "And how do you know that I am smarter than them?"

"Well, most of them have been here for about 45 minutes and not one of them noticed the blood on my clothes that indicates I am hurt. You didn't even look at me for more than a few seconds and you figured out that I was hurt and where. So my guess is you first saw something on the ground of the alley like a blood trail leading to the pay phone and figured out that the person who called in the crime was injured." I answered

He smiled obviously pleased with my answer and then turned abruptly and went back into the alley. The older man looked after him with a wry smile. He turned toward me and stuck out his hand "Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade and that was Sherlock Holmes." He said as I shook his hand. "Sorry about his behavior."

I grinned "Don't apologize, I thought that was awesome."

Lestrade looked taken aback "That's not the usual reaction. Most people basically hate him on sight." Frowning at Lestrade's comment I turned to watch Sherlock. He approached the scene carefully, darting from one area to the next a look of intense concentration on his face. A thought occurred to me but I quickly brushed it aside as Lestrade offered me a small first aid kit. Sherlock walked back over to Lestrade and me just as I was finishing taping gauze square to my side.

"I need to see her place of work and her home." He said quickly

"Wait, what have you got Sherlock?" Lestrade interjected

"It was a mugging. Even you idiots can see that. However, the fact that none of her possessions are missing and the perpetrator did not do more damage to our witness suggests that this was meant to look like a mugging and is instead a premeditated murder." Sherlock state quickly

My eyes narrowed as I thought about a bunch of cops tearing through the apartment and the "den". Sherlock turned away from Lestrade and looked at me studying me like he did the alley. I could almost see him put together the pieces but before he could let loose a string of observations I quickly said "Rose is-was a prostitute and my roommate. I doubt you will find anything at the den, but the apart-flat should be easy to show you, Sherlock."

"Great" Lestrade said "we will put together a team and head over there with you now."

I shook my head "Sorry, but you are a cop the others won't like you poking around. I assume that Sherlock isn't a cop due to the frosty reception he got earlier so it will be easier to get him into see the room."

Lestrade's expression grew grim and worried. _What is he worried about? _I wondered glancing at Sherlock to see if he shared whatever concern Lestrade had but I had no luck. His expression reminded me of when I wanted to hide something personal, what Rose had nicknamed my robo-face. Whatever was bothering Lestrade it had something to do with Sherlock's secret.

Glancing back and forth between them I took a gamble and I promised "I will bring him back in the same health and condition that he is in now, I promise."

Startled the two men looked at me and then each other. Sherlock looked annoyed and Lestrade looked more concerned. Smiling slightly I said "Detective Inspector, you seemed worried that the only reason I said that. Sherlock, stop glaring at him he cares and you should be grateful."

I swallowed the lump in my throat away and looked away from the two men to rummage through my pockets. I sighed when I realized I didn't have my usual notebook and pen on me because I had left the apartment in a hurry to look for Rose. As I looked up to ask Sherlock and Lestrade if either of them had one Sherlock silently handed me a small notebook and pen that judging by Lestrade's huff of annoyance was his. I nodded my thanks at him and took them away from him. I quickly sketched a map detailing where the apartment was in relation to the alley. I handed the map to Lestrade.

"The place isn't exactly legal so it would be a bit difficult to give you an exact address but if you need to find it this should help." He smiled gratefully and then said "Go on, the sooner you go the sooner we can solve your friend's murder." Smiling my gratitude I turned to Sherlock who was waiting impatiently and asked "Ready?" He glared back and I smiled inwardly as I turned to walk back to the apartment.

A/N: 'constipated rabbit' comes from the brilliant story _Question of Identity_ by VolceVoice. Since reading it I can no longer picture Anderson without this description. Please leave a review if you like it or hated it or have a suggestion.


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